


Our Dance Without Music

by benedictedcumberbatched



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotions, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictedcumberbatched/pseuds/benedictedcumberbatched
Summary: There was a lot he could say to her, always one who never seemed to run out of words, but now as he sat on her too small sofa across from her, he was speechless.





	

_“I can’t. Not to you.”_  
_“Why?”_  
_“Because...because it’s true. Because it’s true Sherlock. It’s always been true.”_

The call ended. Three short beeps delineated the end of the call. Molly set her mobile down on the counter, her hand covering her mouth as she stifled back the sobs that threatened to escape. She had sworn to herself that she was done shedding tears over that impossible man, yet there he went and threw her feelings back in her face, again, all in the name of the experiment. Drawing in a deep, but shaky breath, Molly steeled herself and returned to her tea. Today had been bad enough.

\--

There was a lot he could say to her, always one who never seemed to run out of words, but now as he sat on her too small sofa across from her, he was speechless. He should explain it all now that the potential threat of her being blown up before him was locked up again behind glass in Sherrinford, explain how he had repressed the very memories of his sister and changed them to protect himself, explain how he even had a sister, explain that she was beyond help and knew how to manipulate far more than Jim Moriarty ever could, explain that he meant what he said despite it being said under duress. He appreciated Molly not saying anything. She just kept busy flipping through a magazine and sipping her tea. Occasionally, her eyes would rise to watch him over the edge of the magazine, but she never pressed him.

They sat in silence for some time, until the sky began to turn orange and bask the sitting room in a warm glow. Finally Sherlock moved, leaning forward to brace his arms against his knees. “I meant it,” he said quietly, his eyes staring at her sock clad feet. Molly set the magazine beside her on the end table and folded her hands in her lap.

He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet her’s before continuing. “I meant it,” he repeated, “every word. There is more I will tell you in time, more of why I asked you to say it, but I had to tell you I meant it and still mean it. I didn’t realize it until after I said it the first time, which is why I said it again. I know I hurt you and I know you probably won’t believe me when I say it was not intentional. I’ve hurt you countless times over the past few years and this time is no exception. I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you again but I can only say that I won’t try to do it intentionally.”

He watched her reaction carefully the whole time and couldn’t help but be impressed by her poker face. She didn’t give away any sign of her inner thoughts, although he knew, or rather hoped, she had some. “Yes, you hurt me. I still don’t know why you had to do it but I know, in time, you will supply me with the answers I need to know. But I’m glad you told me and I finally told you. It’s the truth, I love you Sherlock Holmes, and as long as we’re honest with each other, I see no problem. We’ve danced around this enough,” Molly replied, leaning forward and firmly grasping his hand in hers. “Don’t you think?”  
Sherlock folded her hand between his, remarking at how small they were, small and capable. Just like her. Everyone had misjudged her, himself included on numerous occasions. “What are you saying, Molly?” he asked, running his thumb over her knuckles, ignoring the scrapes and cuts on his.

She smiled and blushed slightly. “I’m saying if you are okay and really want to try this, we take it slow. If you’re not, I’ve been waiting for you for years, I think I can wait a bit longer.”

Scooting forward on the sofa until his knees touched her’s, he raised one hand and wrapped it around to the back of her head. “We take it slow,” he replied before drawing her forward and pressing his lips to her’s.


End file.
